Alone
by russianwinter013
Summary: Knock Out is alone after centuries of war that have ravaged the paltry planet known as Earth. He has seen horrors no sane mind would be able to comprehend and has committed horrifying acts himself. There is nothing left to fight for. Everything is dead. So when he finds a young survivor, will his current beliefs change?
1. To Part and Live in Torment

**Hi! Here is my new Transformers story, Alone!**

**Title: Alone**

**Universe: Prime AU**

**Rating: T, may be M for angst and depression and gore (horror)**

**Warnings: There Will Be Angst and Depression**

**Summary: **_Knock Out is alone after centuries of war that have ravaged the paltry planet known as Earth. He has seen horrors no sane mind would be able to comprehend and has committed horrifying acts himself. There is nothing left to fight for. Everything is dead. So when he find a young survivor, will his current beliefs change?_

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><p><em>"To die and part is a less evil; but to part and live, there...there is the torment." George Lansdowne.<em>

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><p>There was nothing, just beautiful silence. A cloak that wrapped itself around everything, one that was welcome with its cold and unfeeling grasp.<p>

Silence. Yes. He liked it that way.

This path was so _silent. _The only noise, however faint it was, was the light crunch of his pedes over the rotting metal of the corpses beneath him. Oh, the lovely corpses. He could only think about the supplies he would be able to obtain with such wonderful parts. Things he needed desperately...but not as much as the joy of dismantling former allies.

He doubted there was such a thing that was _not_ silence. He had become so accustomed to it that it was just…natural. There was nothing but the breathtaking silence. Not the one that possessed one to stare in awe. No, this silence was different.

This was the silence that was heard at the end of the world.

Sure, he had seen the destruction of his home world thousands of years ago. But this war, this new war started by the alleged _Lord Protector_ ...there was nothing. It was just...pointless.

They had continued to fight until there was nothing left. Death and destruction had followed them, nipping at their heels, until it reared like a savage and feral animal and tore them apart with a cold and merciless venomous dripping maw.

Humanity was just a faint speck in the great shadow of the universe. The universe was lucky to be alive. And so was he.

He just found it hard to actually care about it.

Ever since most of the entire Cybertronian race had been terminated, either by the ruthless war or by the relentless hand of Time, he had learned enough to know that one found there was little to care about when everything they had cared about was destroyed.

His appearance, for one thing, was an example. He had once been a loud and narcissistic mech with a bright red paint job and golden rims that were polished enough to blind anyone idiotic enough to look directly at them. There had been no scratches or scars anywhere on his frame. He had rarely fought as a result of his intense appreciation and love of his appearance.

Now, there was no one left to show off to. No one at all. He had found it much more easier to be able to blend into the dark like the stalker some believed he was. The only major thing he had changed about his physical appearance was his paint. He was now a darker red, a burgundy, really, with black chrome rims instead of the blinding and bright golden ones he had had. He realized it was much more inconspicuous to blend into the dark or to give the impression he was terminated long ago...a wonderful illusion for those who dared attempt to raid his ship. Ah, yes. He could remember those few idiotic stragglers that were foolish enough to actually try and steal from _him. _No, he had _not _been pleased when he had found out.

Their bodies were reminders to those: a decaying and foul reminder that should one attempt to purloin his supplies, they most definitely would not make it out alive. Not with so much...well, there really was nothing to put on the line. The line was nearly gone now, depleted of all faith and energy.

His paint was not all that had changed. With his Energon depletion, his optics were darker than ever, and his movements, however slow or sluggish they were, were only enhanced by his more than normal reflexes honed by vorns of dodging airborne weapons. His paint was not kept in pristine condition, either. Normally he would have raged and swore at the scars and scratches on his frame. But, like before, there was little in him that actually cared. The only thing in him was anger and the need to survive by any means necessary.

Yet, despite was others saw on the outside, and despite the current turn of events, his narcissism had all changed when the war had corrupted him.

Corruption was so _hard_ to avoid when one was chased by the death throes any industrialized skirmish dragged along behind them like a child waiting for a piece of some sort of sugary sweet that would never come. On Cybertron, politicians were the main sign of corruption, results of political machines and bribery from large and worldwide industries and senators. Every now and then, he remembered, there was a ruler who was captured or assassinated or even publicly tortured and executed (by a rather disturbing assigned executioner) because they could not resist the temptations the beckoning hands of corruption and greed and power held.

No, he had not been a politician or senator or some other nonsense like that, and truth be told he was pleased he had never achieved that childhood goal.

He had been corrupted by bloodlust and insanity.

He may not have gave the impression about it on the outside, with his ever-present smirk and infuriating jibes that had run his superiors and colleagues up the wall, to steal the strange human term, but his sanity had been best doubted by the agitation caused by his experimenting and scavenging, which were his hobbies, believe it or not.

Yet deep down he knew his alleged "insanity" was caused only by his deeply hidden depression.

The war did nothing to soothe it. It had only made it worse, like the outside vermin attempting to infiltrate the supposedly advanced protection protocols used to keep out unwanted and lethal viruses that used their irritating furtiveness to scope out the defense mechanisms and somehow find a way in.

His depression was not normal. Not by any means. There was nothing to be affected so strongly by anymore, nothing to make the infected wounds of grief and pain fester.

No.

Wait.

There was one thing. One _measly,_ formerly _insignificant_ thing that could affect him. There was only one thing that could make him feel this way.

It was his desire to be alone.

It had not altered his condition in any way before, not until the war had decimated everything his kind had touched.

Normal alone was when he tired of a certain someone's rants over authority and being the rightful heir. Normal alone was when he had a massive processor ache and wanted to head to berth early to futilely attempt to recharge...and wanting to rip out the vocalizer of anyone who spoke during his aforementioned attempt. Normal alone was merely wanting to be shut and wrapped in solitude to read the contents of a favorite datapad or to clear his processor.

The type of alone he so wantonly desired as of present was not normal. He liked being one of the only type of his race left. He liked the silence that accompanied the watchful eye of death and misery.

It was not healthy.

Yet he found that there was little feeling left in him to actually care.

Alone...yes. That was the key word in this dead and crumbling world, was it not? Death was hardly comparable and the _Pit_ even seemed so promising right now.

He found that he needed the silence.

It kept him sane.

Now, one might wonder how the one thing that was slowly killing him somehow made him sane in addition...well, he was not so sure himself.

The silence gave him something to do.

He could actually think and clear his processors without the looming threat of retribution, one that had more often than not caused him immense physical and psychological pain.

It gave him time to think about the past actions he had committed...memories that had never truly went away like he had thought they had.

The things, in order to explain, that had plagued him for centuries incessantly.

He could also think about those he had cared about.

Oh, how he missed him so. He had been the only one who had truly understood him.

It was that femme's fault he had been taken from him so quickly.

Without a chance for him to say how much he had actually cared, a feat that was rather astonishing in its solitude.

She had better hope he would not find her. That is, if she was still alive.

With a broken vent, he trudged on through the diseased world.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked! This was an idea that came to me a while ago. I just had to find time to put it into words.<strong>

**Questions, concerns, suggestions, please PM or leave it in a review!  
><strong>

**Bye! :)**


	2. The Value of Words

**Chapter 2! Hope you like!**

**Author's Note: I believe there are some songs that would be inspiration for the chapters to come. They are as follows: _"The Day the World Went Away" by Nine Inch Nails, "The Wicked End" by Avenged Sevenfold, "Zero Sum" by Nine Inch Nails, "A Kiss Before" by Candlebox, and "Waiting for the Miracle" by Leonard Cohen. _Take a look at those; it is about all the preview you will get for the future stuff.**

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><p><em>"Words mean nothing when your actions contradict." Unknown.<em>

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><p>He could not remember the sound of his own voice.<p>

Sure, it seemed like a random thought. No, it _was_ a random thought, definitely. He was sitting in the remains of a broken battlefield. One could at least think of something associated with that, things such as the eerie silence or the acrid stench and taste of the smoke pouring from the beasts made of fire that were restlessly stirring around him. But no...he thought about the sound of his own voice.

Throughout the years, he had been glad that it had not sounded a _thing_ like the one that belonged to that silver Seeker...how he even managed with such a grating noise coming out his throat was unknown to him.

What he did remember, however, was how shocked his enemies had looked whenever he spoke from the shadows. How foolish they had been to check the opinions of their scanners.

Such a pity that no scanners were of use now.

There was no one left to use them on.

_Keep your thoughts together. Do not let petty matters overwhelm._

Ah, but _petty _was such a negligible term. It did not even sound right. But who was he to say what sounded right and what did not? If he could not recall the sound of his _own voice, _should he really be complaining about the way other things sounded?

He drifted off into silence once again, rising with a barely audible vent as he circled his ship. It was nothing too ostentatious; it was merely a vessel in which to transport him when he became too exhausted to move or when his mood descended into one of a lackadaisical manner in which he merely wanted to sit back and enjoy the much-needed silence.

And, in addition, he could enjoy the uplifting shocked expressions of the corpses adorning the hull. Oh, yes, he stopped him from doing so; those who had always complained about his...scientific endeavors had nothing to worry about now that he was far away and also in conformity with the fact that there was a high probability that they were long dead or in hiding.

The faintest hint of a smirk, albeit rather unnerving and sadistic, could not help but cross his mouthplates. He could recall the moment he had first found the four of them...

_Knock Out picked his way through the broken and war-ravaged road, thoughts deep in the events that had recently occurred, not in vehicular form as a result of how depleted he was of energy. This sector of the newly-divided Earth was completely demolished. There was no sign of life anywhere; the broken remnants of the pathetic and fleshy race that dominated this once fully resourced planet were scattered throughout the fields flanking him...jagged remains of charred bones and flesh caught on the remaining trees and hanging as if they had had nothing better to do with their forceful and brutally ended lives._

_He took in a deep draft of ash-coated air, uncaring of the faint burn that warned him of irritation and the heat that did nothing to cool his chassis as he cycled it back out in a long sigh. He was making his way towards his ship, a small yet comforting and rather quaint vessel bestowed upon him by a recently deceased coworker. The ship, entitled the_ Prescient,_ was currently nestled in the blackened carcasses of about twenty or so dead and dying trees in its camouflage mode. There really was no need for it to be locked in that mode; however, others loved to steal just about anything they could find, whether it was useful or not. And during this time, this horrible yet sickeningly inventive time, a ship was pretty useful, no matter its current condition or type; as long as it had semi-functional engines strong enough to get one off the diseased and disgusting planet they were currently on or even far away from the aforementioned conflict, he knew there was a highly probable chance that if the_ Prescient_ had not been concealed in rotting corpses that it would have been taken by now._

_He slowed to a stop as he neared the ship, his sensors broadening in order to find intruders of any sort. It was a routine he always performed, despite the fact that there was rarely every anyone bold enough to steal a ship that clearly belonged to a well-known Decepticon Officer...or because it merely gave the impression of being a run down and worn out piece of rotted scrap._

_Sensing nothing, even with his enhanced scanners, courtesy of a certain one-opticed and enormous mech, he slowly made his way onto the vessel, intent on capturing at least a half joor of badly-needed recharge._

_The inside of the_ Prescient_ was dark and cool, like he always kept it. He was not one for heat, especially when his faction was currently stationed in a place known for its deserts and intense humidity. With another vent he unlatched his carry-on subspace -he believed packing his own internal one deterred the rather impressive speed and agility he was known for having- and threw it to the floor of his cabin in a lackadaisical manner, inwardly wincing at the harsh clang and screech of metal against metal. He was too exhausted to have done it in a manner that was less disastrous._

_With a satisfied smirk, he eased himself onto the berth, mindful of the scarred armor covering his lower backstrut. It had been a result of a fight with the two-wheeler, the femme of Prime's old team. He was pleased to say that that was the only injury he had received, however painful it may be, and that she had retreated with what he was capable of the most, with no exceptions whatsoever. _

_Her servo was proudly displayed above the entryway to the ship, positioned just so in a way that any unwelcome visitor would automatically see it and become overwhelmed with fear and caution._

_Just as he closed his optics for the recharge Primus had finally allowed him to catch, a noise tore him from his near slumber._

_He sat up, systems half in recharge but his defense subroutines activating almost instantly. He stood slowly and silently, audios and optics tuned to the highest frequency they could handle at the current moment, moving out of the main cabin and into the hall._

_There was nothing. No sound, no movement, nothing. Perhaps he had been imagining things...a result of his lack of proper rest and health..._

_He had been going to return to the rest that had been denied from him for so long when he heard it._

_That faint clatter and the distinct...voices?_

_With a snarl, he unsheathed his Energon staff, his talons wrapping around the familiar cool and smooth metal. Defensive relays stated that there was an intruder in his ship, and a brief check with the computer's main intelligence confirmed his suspicious theory. He rumbled in irritation, inwardly cursing the computer for not informing him on the fact earlier while it merely provided the argument that it had not given him the aforementioned information as a result that he needed recharge badly._

_He neared the place where the crash and the voices had come from, narrowing his optics as they recalibrated to the even darker level of the ship. His pedes made no noise against the sterile metal floor as he moved closer and closer to the source of the strange sounds. _

_The silhouettes of four Cybertronians were outlined through the see-through glass of his storage room. Hushed and hurried murmurs met his audio receptors, and he could make out the fact that they were currently stuffing their subspaces with as much supplies as they could carry without being conspicuous._

_The faintest disturbance flickered in the corner of his optic, and in a flash he turned, long claws lashing out and connecting with a warm metal target; he snarled softly as he felt the intruder's warm Energon against his claws. Mentally commanding the ship to bring on the central light in the hall he was currently in, he was met with the thin frame of a Vocian mech with a seemingly corrective optical visor. Two heavy duty blasters were unsheathed, powered and whirring, ready for a fight._

_"Who are you?" the Seeker demanded, aiming his blaster with unerring accuracy at the Decepticon medic. He did not seem to care for his wound._

_Knock Out grinned viciously, tilting his helm as he widened his optics to as much as an innocent level he could handle. He was a Decepticon, after all. He remained silent, assuming a non-threatening position as he secretly stored his staff in his foreservo compartment._

_"Answer me!" His silence only seemed to enrage the other, who now trained both blasters on his opponent._

_Knock Out shook his helm, his grin holding a bit of a feral and manic edge to it. His engine rumbled, but he knew it was unclear to the other if it was in irritation or deceit. Yet Knock Out knew it was most likely in both. He was exhausted and somewhat weak, though he did not like to admit it, and he really did not have the patience to be dealing with intruders at the moment._

_The intruders' guard scowled in a rather poor attempt at intimidation. "I can blow you to kingdom come! Answer me!" He shifted, and at that moment Knock Out noticed the way he was favoring his left leg, as well as the seemingly painful scars that covered the sleek black armor. _

_Knock Out's grin morphed into a smirk, yet his optics continued to flash in that infuriating yet murderous way. "Oh, I think not. Do you not know who I am?"_

_The winged mech was undeterred. "That doesn't make a difference. We found this ship first. We have rights!"_

_The medic narrowed his blazing optics. "What, like that idiotic human saying 'first come, first serve'? Look around you, kid. There is no more government or even form of order, besides the glorious Lord Protector Megatron. No rights even exist anymore!"_

_The other faltered ever so slightly. "I suppose you're right, aren't you?" His optics focused dangerously, and his guns whirred as if in excitement. "We still found this ship, however."_

_Knock Out snarled, his optics blazing once more. "Do you not receive the newsfeed? I am a Decepticon Officer!"_

_The Seeker scoffed, giving the impression of rolling his optics in disbelief. "Yeah, right. And I am really Starscream in disguise!"_

_A voice came from the inside of the storage room. "Avaron, who are you talking to?"_

_Avaron flared his wings, releasing a deep vent from his chassis as he turned and headed into the storage room. "Just some lowlife I found snooping in the hall." He ignored the way the medic rumbled threateningly, focused on his conversation with one of the others._

_In fact, he was so focused that he did not even notice the Decepticon behind him slipping out his Energon staff._

_"Yes, I am keeping an optic on him. What do you think I -?" His sentence cut off in a garbled and static-laced scream as the Decepticon's energy staff pierced through his armor and sent waves of electricity throughout his frame, enough to send him in a temporary but lengthy stasis lock._

_Knock Out stepped over the incapacitated Seeker, standing with one servo resting on his hip and the other twirling the staff currently in his leading servo. His battle defenses quickly assessed the situation. The remaining three Cybertronians were all Seekers like their companion, and the ruler seemed to be the smallest, a dark green and gold femme, if the aura of authority and power radiating around her was anything to go by._

_The medic's mood was rapidly deteriorating. "Would you care to tell me why you are in my ship?"_

_"Your ship?" The tallest, a gray mech with dark blue highlights, scoffed in disbelief. "This ship was abandoned long ago."_

_Knock Out curled his upper mouthplate in a sadistic sneer. "Really now? Did you even take the time to send a scout ahead to check for signs of life in, oh, I don't know, the main cabin? Because I can assure you, I have been there for quite some time."_

_The other, a thin and long-limbed femme with sleek white armor covered in what looked suspiciously like dried Energon, flicked her wings. "There is no need for an attitude, mech. Of course we sent a scout, and there was no one here. Like we said, this ship was abandoned and we are helping ourselves." Her voice was laced with a thick accent, yet it was filled with disgust and ridicule as well as the slightest hint of irritation._

_"'Helping yourselves'?" Knock Out snarled lowly, narrowing his optics. "The databanks clearly state that this ship's main artificial intelligence is hooked up to a living Cybertronian. Care to guess who that is?"_

_"You?" the white femme sneered, accent thickening ever so slightly._

_"Precisely." The Decepticon CMO flared his armor, his weapon crackling enough to make the others assume battle ready stances. "My designation is Knock Out. Ever hear of me?"_

_"You're the Chief Medical Officer of the Decepticons!" the tall mech declared in pure and unadulterated disbelief._

_It was as if sense had suddenly reared its ugly head._

_The Decepticon vented deeply, speaking in a slow voice as if he were conversing with a sparkling. "Yes. Good for you! I see you are finally putting that dimwitted processor of yours to work." His optics flared brightly, stained with the slightest hint of maniacal fury. "Now get out of my ship."_

_The green femme finally spoke. Her voice was unnaturally deep. "You have one point five breems to explain to us why we would do such a thing and why we would even benefit from the aforementioned action."_

_Knock Out fixed his burning glare on her. "Why would you benefit from it?" The prod crackled menacingly, but they were surprised when the Decepticon Officer merely subspaced it in his foreservo compartment. "Why would you even ask such a thing? Do you know what I am capable of?" His sudden grin was full of...anticipation?_

_"Should we?" the femme retorted, crossing her servos and narrowing her strange yellow optics._

_The white one continued, "All of the stories say you are a coward."_

_Knock Out tutted and shook his helm. "Tell me now, my dear femme..." Suddenly he turned sharply and advanced on the tall mech, his optics flashing. In one swift movement, he had the other pinned to the nearest wall. The femmes growled, prepared to defend their teammate._

_Knock Out turned and grinned viciously at them, his optics alight with maniacal pleasure. "Does this seem cowardly to you?" Keeping their gazes locked, he traced his free servo down the mech's chassis, his claws scraping with an audio-splitting screech as they came to a stop directly above the spark chamber. The medic narrowed his optics as he took in the warmth radiating from the gray mech's chassis...warmth that would soon come to an end._

_"If you are finished groping our teammate, we would like to leave," the white femme snarled. _

_Knock Out shook his helm, pouting almost childishly. "You haven't seen what I am going to do yet, though." Then the pout transformed into a grin of pure and unadulterated insanity as his claws plunged deep into the chestplates of the restrained mech. He reveled in the heat surrounding his servos, the warm and sizzling Energon tingling against his plating as it poured out. The Seeker barely had time to scream before his spark was torn out before his very optics, and the pleasurable heat that had been his frame crumpled and folded in on itself as it collapsed with a weak thud to the floor._

_The remaining femmes stared in shock, their processors unable to comprehend the fact that the allegedly "cowardly" Decepticon Officer had just ripped out another mech's life force with his bare servos. _

_"Now." Knock Out straightened, his grin becoming all the more wilder with each passing nanosecond. "Who cares to offline first?"_

Ah, yes. He remembered _that _orn. Their bodies proved to be somewhat beneficial in certain terms. _  
><em>

Yes, he had been exhausted and deficient in Energon. Yes, he terminated all four of them with a sadistic sense of superiority.

Had it been necessary?

No, not really.

But he had _wanted _to do it. And he _did _do it.

Now, thinking back to their horrified screaming, he wished something in the silence he was currently experiencing would change. Something, _anything. _Just the slightest bit. He was starting to go mad._  
><em>

Yet...there was something...

Something was off about this silence.

Now, one might believe there was one type of silence, but that was not true. There were many varieties: the one where one was too cowardly to speak up for themselves, the one in which doubt was ever present (specifically in the presence of superiors or figures of high authority), the type in which said coward did not want to inquire their commander on the topic they were currently discussing. There was even the variety in which one was only quiet because of how enraged they were, or as a result of the fact that they were too uninterested to listen, or the one in which they waited for someone else to start the fight so they could join in, the one where it was so difficult to put jumbled thoughts into words, or even the one where they just wanted to _think.__  
><em>

That was what he was currently doing.

And he believed there was someone or something else doing so with him.

The nagging sensation had first occurred a while ago, when he was scavenging a field of more than half decomposed Vehicon corpses. It was a while after they had rebelled in the time of black anarchy. The feel of optics lingering on his back, the feel of light and taloned servos tracing and crawling over his plating...

Huh. Maybe he _was _going crazy.

Oh, well. There was nothing else to lose now.

He vented in exhaustion and entered the _Prescient _for a restless night of recharge.

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><p><strong>Sorry for all of my squeamish readers out there...this entire fic captures Knock Out's darker side. Hope you liked! Read and review, pleaze! :)<strong>


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